


Botanical Escape

by blanchettstruck



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, idk if this is good but here we are, oh the early phrack days, phrack - Freeform, things jack and i have in common: we like gardening and phryne fisher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25454917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchettstruck/pseuds/blanchettstruck
Summary: Jack tends to his garden as an attempt to clear his head; it doesn't quite work.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	Botanical Escape

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a silly headcanon I came up with on Twitter, but after thinking about it for over a week, I decided to write it. As always, feedback is much appreciated!

The inspector grumbled in frustration, opening the door and stepping out into the garden. Timid rays were just starting to light up the sky, painting golden strokes over the pale blue of the early hour. 

He looked up, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, hoping for the chilly wind to, somehow, work its magic and clear his head. 

Nothing about this case made any sense, specially with the number of suspects rising day by day, as Miss Fisher had pointed out the night before; it was almost as if whoever was behind Mrs. Ashworth’s murder had made sure that everyone around her held not one, but multiple grudges against the wealthy old woman. No murder weapon, no solid motive nor leads and the skyrocketing pressure that came with the famous family name were the reason why he was up so early, after less than three hour’s sleep. His thoughts moved quickly from one suspect to another, echoing Miss Fisher’s comments on each one of them; it was nearly uncanny, really, how much of a knack she had for it; he smiled, the vision of her sitting on the corner of his desk taking over his thoughts, uninvited, in true Miss Fisher fashion. 

Opening his eyes again, he took a few steps forward and bent over the violets to check how much water they needed- it hadn’t rained at night, and it looked like it would be another hot day in Melbourne. Proceeding to water them, he couldn’t help but notice how much the tiny little purple flowers resembled the dress that she was wearing yesterday; or was it the day before? Either way, the wind moved them just the way her skirt swayed when she crossed her legs, or when she turned around to leave the station after the third stiff drink. This case had been dragging itself, but some part of him didn’t seem to mind it in the least if it meant spending late hours in her company, watching her mind connect dots and draw conclusions, fighting bravely not to get too caught up in the way her red lips moved when she spoke, or in the way her sparkly clothes reflected the lights in his office. Why did she have to dress like that, had she no idea how distracting it could be? It was a rhetorical question, of course, for Jack Robinson knew that the Lady Detective was completely aware of her effect on people, and on him, too, in spite of his best efforts to appear professional and unaffected. 

“Damn it!” he murmured, annoyed; he had overwatered the poor violets yet again, and he knew that one more mental apology certainly wouldn’t save them from drowning. He rolled his eyes, silently cursing the culprit: she, who had been occupying a fraction of his mind for quite some time now, and clearly ruining his garden in the process. 

He laughed; not only was she incapable of caring for plants herself, but she also found a way to sabotage his, too. It must be nice to be a violet, or a rose, or an orchid, he thought to himself as he looked around his small retreat, and not having to fight a certain force of nature who insists on taking over one’s thoughts; but it must be somewhat sad, too, to live without being able to have one’s thoughts overcome by that hurricane of a woman. 

Jack finally gave in to the smile that had been on the corner of his mouth for a good three - or thirty, or three hundred? - seconds. 

He made quick work of watering the salmon-colored roses, deciding that maybe a biscuit and a cup of tea would be more effective in putting his thoughts into place, because at least their colors didn’t necessarily remind him of Miss Fisher’s ensembles. And after that he would have plenty of time to go over his case notes carefully before heading out to South Police Station- and before she came rushing through his office door again, as she seemed to do every other day, or every day, if he was lucky enough. 

Another eye roll was well on its way when two small pieces of greenery caught his attention as he reentered the living room: _ceropegia woodii_ and _epipremnum aureum_ , commonly known as string of hearts and devil’s ivy, respectively; he laughed at the irony and shook his head in a clear sign of defeat, witnessed only by the two plants that sat on top of his large wooden bookcase. She seemed to be everywhere, even if she had never set foot in his home... Not yet, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Tei for telling me that in the books (which I have yet to read), Jack's favorite flowers are violets and orchids.


End file.
